


Back again to test the Water

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Awkward Lavellan (Dragon Age), BAMF Inquisitor, Background Relationships, Dragons, Dreamers (Dragon Age), Elvhen, Fade Dreams, Fade Sex, Gen, Gossip, M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Magic, Mystery, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Pining Solas, Protective Solas, Spirits, The Fade, Trust Issues, Weirdness, this shit is weird: the inquisitor lavellan story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The problem with Mahanon was that Solas couldn't explain him. The deeper problem was that he was captivating: he drew Solas' very soul to himself with a warmth and camaraderie that felt like...home. He made Solas want to trust him despite the secrets surrounding where exactly he had come from. For the first time in a long time, Solas felt as if someone understood him.He was also dying. Solas was the one with questions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as always, we use project elvhen for all our elvhen needs

Although it made her feel guilty to admit it, the first word Cassandra would have used to describe the Inquisitor was not “trustworthy.” Solas could tell it pained her, because of the way her eyes would linger on the ground after she spent a minute or two staring at Lavellan, and how she sometimes went tense when he came up behind her and startled her- silent as the night, as he was wont to do. Because there was no _overt_ reason not to trust the elf who had by all rights risked his life to help the Inquisition, but something yet made her uneasy.

Part of him felt it was inescapable- of course she would be wary to trust an elf, a mage, who’d appeared from nowhere- but the rational side of him could see why. There was something about Mahanon that felt secretive.

However, he was fairly certain Cassandra felt quite differently towards that secretiveness than he did.

Solas had always enjoyed puzzles. He used to solve them for recreation, before the world fell, and he secretly enjoyed it whenever they came upon one in their travels. And, perhaps, part of him enjoyed that a puzzle meant Mahanon would inevitably ask for his help before anyone else’s.

“Well, any ideas, Ghost?” Varric asked from the other end of the chamber they’d found in the Hinterlands, standing in the light of the green torches lining the wall as he stared at the floor. He was referring to both Mahanon’s habit of sneaking up on others and the silver color of his hair- no one seemed to look closely enough to realize the roots were pewter, and not the almost sparkling light color of coin at the ends. Maybe because his face, still, remained young.

Mahanon was crouched on a fallen pillar as he examined the tile puzzle below. He again, defying the rules of common sense, wore that nonsensical outfit that seemed to be just strips of fabric tied around his chest and ropes around his arms that made Solas’ eyes want to trail down towards his stomach. At least, this time, he’d taken Josephine’s advice and pulled on a trench coat, though he’d neglected to fasten it tight. It still had no sleeves. At times it made Solas itch to pull a fur around him.

Cassandra was behind him, quickly shelving her own apprehensiveness after the Inquisitor had slithered past her in the darkness, never having been one for lengthy puzzles.

“Solas?”

“You could ask _my_ opinion on these things once in a while, you know,” Dorian complained, though he was all pomp and circumstance with a little bit of burnt pride for the sake of it.

A tiny smile flitted over Mahanon’s lips. He didn’t look away from the floor, though his tone became more lighthearted. “Of course, Dorian. You get the next one after lethal’lin and we can all sit back while you solve it.”

“Well, I can’t do _all_ the work, obviously.”

“Try it in this order, ‘ma’halla,” Solas said, interrupting with a wave of his hand to cast a trail of light over the tiles before Dorian could hear Mahanon’s retort. It set the Inquisitor upon the effort, snipping his conversation with Dorian, leaving him to give a tiny huff. Solas never looked at him, lest he let on he’d done it on purpose.

Mahanon’s hair by all logics shouldn’t have shimmered so in the torchlight. It was a silly thing to engage in such endearments, Solas’ brain told him, but he was weaker still in more than one way after losing his orb.

When the last tile clinked the door ahead of them began to rumble as it rolled open. Mahanon perked up, vaulting over the pillar to head for the door- he was always the first to dart into any elvhen ruin.

He always seemed to be both inquisitive about the contents, surprised, and disappointed, all at the same time.

“Keep in mind,” Cassandra noted dryly, casting light ahead of them with the very _normal_ torch she’d had Dorian light for her since the elvhen ones, one of which Mahanon had a hold of, were ‘suspicious,’ “that we still have to hike back to camp, and it was already darkening out when we entered.”

“I _do_ love _not_ getting eaten in the dark by bears,” Varric added lightheartedly, always there to soften the bite in Cassandra’s voice when it wasn’t fully intended.

Mahanon replied with amusement in his voice. “Worry little, Cassandra, there aren’t any bears in here. I only want to activate this relic and we can leave.”

She frowned. Solas was not unaware of the fact she wasn’t fully onboard with the task, since it was solely Solas’ idea.

But Mahanon seemed to trust him, almost implicitly.

It made a rock form in his stomach.

It was banished, quickly enough, by the distraction of the fade rift that somehow formed in the room behind them when they were fixing to leave.

* * *

 

The Fade felt strange when Mahanon was there.

Besides the fact that rifts seemed to form around them more than usual when they were out, it simply felt…quiet, and at ease, when the other elf was in Solas’ presence. Often times they spent hours talking while their bodies slumbered- about the Fade, about magic, about the Inquisition…about Solas. Mahanon avoided talking about himself. It was an interesting game when Solas was doing the same yet wanted to ask questions about his companion.

The first time Solas had drawn him into the Fade, Mahanon hadn’t acted in the least bit surprised. He acted like he was _more_ familiar with the fake Haven than the real one. He was like…a Dreamer. A true Dreamer, who did not misuse the Fade for his own purposes.

“Are you lost in thought, da fen? Perhaps projecting outside? You know what they say, the grass is always greener.”

A short jump of his heart out of surprise; the feeling of being caught. It passed. Solas’ nose twitched as he turned. “That would not be possible, fenlin. Are you sure you are as experienced as you act?”

Mahanon smiled. It was more teeth than anything else. He didn’t, however, rise to Solas’ bait. “Ah, I see humor is lost on you. Perhaps I should call you Hahren instead.”

“Perish the thought. Who would believe I the wiser of us?”

There was a piece of wood in Mahanon’s hands that hadn’t been there before. He turned it over, carving into it with a knife made of dark stone, sparing it only the occasional glance. “Just this once, Solas, I’ll cede the victory to you, wiser than the Inquisitor. _Nuva lasa su ma enaste.”_

 _“A victory I’m sure I will cherish,” Solas returned dryly, internally cataloging the discrepancy. Mahanon’s tongue seemed old and well-versed in language the Dalish were less aware of._ _I do the same as you; I see many spirits in the Fade, and they are oft knowledgeable in old things,_ Mahanon had said when Solas asked. Only hours after teasing him, the Inquisitor had struggled- in very minor ways, that the other companions did not seem to notice- through a vaguely stilted meeting with Hawen. It was strange that Mahanon, who had to have come from a clan of some sort, acted as if he didn’t know what to do with himself in the presence of one.

“Of course you will! You can use it as a trump card the next time you’re arguing with Sera.”

Solas didn’t need to roll his eyes to send the sense he was rolling his eyes at Mahanon, leader of the Inquisition, who seemed to spend most of his time either skulking or joking around. In all fairness it was better than how he’d looked earlier that night. When no one was looking- no one but Solas, at least, because he was always looking- Mahanon lost some of the brightness he had on around the others. It wasn’t that he looked gloomy; he only stared off into space with a certain emptiness that set Solas on edge. It reminded him of the nights he spent with a pit in his stomach and something deep down wondering at his purpose.

But Mahanon _was_ bright, so bright, clever, and inquisitive, a seeking and open mind. A mind that seemed to seek out Solas most often. Fen’Harel felt as though he truly had a companion again, and that was a dangerous thing. Mahanon had changed…everything.

“By chance would you like to explain where we are?”

Sudden questions were much more likely to garner answers out of Mahanon. He looked up, almost as if he hadn’t even noticed what- or where, to be precise- he had conjured, a long valley filled with sweeping yellow grasses and cliffs in the distance. It may have mildly resembled a desert setting, but it did not feel like one, with the plant-life saturating it.

The elf sighed. There was longing in it. “Just somewhere I frequented in my youth. I believe it was…a little north of Val Royeaux.”

“Strange for a clan to venture near there.”

“We ventured many places that were strange.”

Solas couldn’t help his curiosity. “Do you plan to return and travel with them again after all is said and done?”

It was the wrong question, and he felt guilty for asking when Mahanon’s expression became closed off. He stared out at the plains and no longer held the statue he’d been working on. “No. They’re gone.”

He said it with a finality and the sense that more than just the people were gone. Solas could feel him in the Fade and feel part of the emptiness, a loneliness that he himself had felt before.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

He said nothing else, and they returned to silently walking together.

* * *

 

Then there was the confusion, among Mahanon’s host of strange knowledge, which was more telling, confounding, and interesting, all at once.

“I think it was one of them that started with an F,” said one of the men the Inquisitor was questioning, about what elven god the statues outside a bandit camp they sought were dedicated to. “The one who’s a wolf or something?”

“Fen’Harel,” said his companion, who seemed to be marginally more knowledgeable about elven ways.

“Which one was that?” Mahanon asked, making Solas’ ear twitch. He did not know who _Fen’Harel_ was…? Strange.

“I’ve heard ‘em call ‘im the great deceiver and all. Some kind of devil, maybe.”

“Oh? What did he do?”

Mahanon spoke like he was hearing someone recite an entertaining children’s story. He may have looked Dalish to humans, with the tattoo he sported on one cheek, but he appeared to know little about their lore.

“Killed someone, yeah, a right trickster. That’s about all I know. Ah, and he’s a wolf. They’re all terrified of him.”

“What could be so scary?” Amusement dripped from the Inquisitor’s tone. “Did he have two heads? Or maybe three tails? That would be just _terrifying_.”

“You ever seen a three-tailed giant scorpion in the deepest tunnels, Inquisitor? Because I have, and it wasn’t fun,” Varric retorted.

Mahanon rolled his eyes and motioned for the men to be on their way down the forest path. The sun was high above them and the air cool, yet warm enough he hadn’t worn anything but that outfit he seemed attached to, and tendrils of his hair draped over his shoulder. They curled over lean muscle built from years of using a bow.

“That’s real, Varric, and well worth being afraid of. There’s no use fearing that which doesn’t exist.”

Oh, now that was interesting. “You don’t believe in the elven gods, Inquisitor?” Solas asked with a raised brow, tilting his head to look at him.

“They are stories, and little more from what I’ve seen. If someone would produce some proof of it, maybe I would reconsider.” Mahanon smiled when Sera let out a long groan from the back of the group, appearing unbothered by whether anyone agreed with him.

“Finally you say something _not_ elfy. You’re still all _like that,_ though. Ugh.”

“Like what, Sera? Unafraid of things that I can study? You’re starting to sound superstitious yourself, you know.”

“Shut up! I am not! I don’t go around putting up weird statues and things like _some_ people.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be fine. What do they suppose should happen, the big bad wolf will stalk me when I walk by the entrance and ambush me behind a tree?”

“You never know, Inquisitor, I hear those things have a way of happening if you jinx it,” Varric sang.

A twitch of his cheek was all that betrayed the slight smile Solas withheld.

“If he’s supposed to be a dog you think he’s like a dog _down there_ , huh?” Sera asked, erasing all of Solas’ amusement in lieu of a freezing rush of embarrassment that made him pause.

Mahanon kept walking, laughing as the two rogues got a chuckle out of it. “If so I can just offer we do something more enjoyable than killing each other! Don’t suppose the Dalish would mind, since this god isn’t one of the holy ones.”

“Hehehe, hey, Solas is always trying to talk with that elvish rubbish, what’dya say to tell someone you want to do _things_?”

“Well, for a dread wolf, I suppose you’d tell him lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en _._ _”_

 _“_ Oh? What does that mean?”

“I strongly suspect the meaning will be lost on you.”

“Oh, you’re not even going to tell me what it means, huh?”

“Try telling someone nuvenan inana mar’lan’palas, i avanan ma’da’vin tar mar’len. Very to the point.”

Sera screwed up her face narrowing her eyes at him and squinted. “Oh?” He leaned in with a laugh and whispered in her ear, promptly making her face start to turn red as she let out a bellowing cackle. “HA! Say that to Blackwall! Then I’ll tell him what it means.”

Solas skulked after them, feeling his face reddening despite his best efforts to avoid it as tension crept up his body. He very much regretted bringing the topic up now.

* * *

 

“Oh, Solas, there you are,” Mahanon said, even though he’d been sat on the floor reading a book rather than looking for him. Solas suspected he had been, but had gotten distracted and started reading. Again. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I can see,” Solas replied lightly. Mahanon smirked as he pushed himself off the floor. The library was empty of Dorian, for once, though he was sure to find his unofficial ‘personal’ bookshelf completely rearranged when he returned.

“I got distracted, all right? I just wanted to ask if you have a migraine. I’ve never sparred with anyone in the Fade before.”

“Everything is working fine. I had a slight ache when I awoke, but nothing after that.”

A tiny smile appeared on Mahanon’s lips. It was a little wistful, a little reflective. Solas wished he could see into his head and see his thoughts; what made him look like that.

“Good. I felt bad when I knocked you in the head. I don’t usually have such ridiculous accidents.”

“Perhaps you should devote some more time to drills, as Cassandra suggests. She might come into the library stalking for you less.”

Mahanon’s expression turned mildly sheepish, but he laughed as he retreated towards the railing where the door was. “You’re so scathing, lethal’lin. But I still will.”

But he paused, still holding a book. He hadn’t really come to ask after his head, Solas took it.

“I just wanted to…say, Solas,” he began, looking so awkward Solas almost felt a little bad for him. The elf cringed and lifted his head so he wasn’t staring at the floor, looking as though he was trying not to be uncollected. “Or, rather, thank you. For being a good friend to me.”

Surprised and confused, Solas raised an eyebrow at him. Mahanon cleared his throat and looked at the dark doorway. Solas would have been poking mild fun at him if he were talking to someone else. “When I came here, I’d lost everything. I was…resigned to just dying. But you’ve been a- a loyal companion, I’m trying to say, and it’s made me less lonely. Thank you. Good night, Solas.”

A stone dropped into Solas’ stomach hearing his confession, followed by a somersault full of tension. Mahanon, so easily, made a warm feeling flow through him, riddled with anxious thoughts of how Mahanon would look when Solas inevitably had to leave. It made him want to so dangerously just sit there and talk with Mahanon forever, the flow of conversation all he needed.

Mahanon quickly strode out into the hall, leaving Solas standing there like a frozen fish. He hadn’t even managed to say anything. The Dread Wolf, rendered unimpressive.

 _Fenedhis_.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t that Mahanon _disliked_ the plaideweave. Obviously not. It just made him stick out like a sore thumb, and clashed so badly with his hair, and he was one of the only ones who really needed stealth, wasn’t he? Besides, Sera already wore it to begin with. No, Mahanon didn’t dislike the plaideweave, he just rather liked not wearing it himself and making everyone else wear it.

“I hate you,” Dorian bit out, voice dry as the Hissing Wastes. The ridiculous hat he wore, filled with brightly-colored plumage, bounced as he walked.

The Iron Bull was the first to reply as Mahanon bit his lip and tried not to laugh. “Aw, c’mon, you look good.”

“Don’t you _dare_ insult me, you heathen. You look even more ridiculous than I do!”

“I have to say I don’t really think this is the most advantageous for battle,” Blackwall broke in, sounding so weary and broken Mahanon almost felt bad. Almost.

Deciding to defend himself, he turned in his saddle to gesture at Cassandra. “Look, Cassandra’s not complaining. She’s well proper.”

Twitching, Cassandra locked her jaw and stared ahead in determination. It must have taken all her strength not to descend to the level of idiocy around her.

“That’s ‘cause she’s plotting your murder in her head,” Varric pointed out, not even needing to see Cassandra’s face to know the stormy expression there. “But while we’re at it, why doesn’t Solas have to wear this extremely attractive and not at all terrible and torturous clothing? I’m sure he’d love it.”

“I’m quite fine, thank you,” Solas returned primly from the front, looking for all the world like he was ignoring them. Mahanon tried not to grin.

“Well, it would just look silly on Solas,” he said. “He doesn’t have a hat!”

“Well, why don’t you get him one? Fair is fair.”

“Would you like a fancy hat, lethal’lin?”

_“_ _Vyn esaya gera assan i’mar’av’ingala.”_

“I don’t know what that meant, but I second it,” Dorian complained.

“If you’d like a lesson on elvhen, you could come ride by me, Dorian.”

“And come near that insane mount of yours? Absolutely not!”

“He’s not insane, he’s got personality,” Mahanon bit back, good-naturedly. The hart he rode was a bit feisty. The ‘Pride of Arlathan,’ the merchant had called him. Mahanon just called him- “Mr. Snuffles would never hurt anybody.”

“Never hurt anybody my arse,” Dorian muttered irately.

“At least it’s not a dracolisk, sparkler.”

“God, why does he even have one of those?”

“I think he has three.”

“Dracolisk would still be better than that skeleton with a sword through its head.”

Mahanon ignored his companions’ banter and turned back to the front. Solas’ eyes were already off him by the time he did, but he knew his friend had been looking.

Well, his awkwardly thanking Solas for giving him a reason to live had probably been a little off-putting. Mahanon decided to take his most effective route of smoothing things over and act as if nothing had happened. Nothing could possibly go wrong! Like the time his clanmates had kept trying to give him an intervention, and acted like he was faking being cheerful after he refused to acknowledge the time he got left at the altar, as the humans said it, or lost his first dragon, or burnt that ancient seaweed scroll from his ancestor. The joke was on them, he’d been just fine.

“I don’t see the problem,” Cole noted glumly as he appeared out of thin air, sitting on the rump of Mahanon’s hart sideways and staring into the distance. “I like my fancy hat.”

“It suits you, Cole. Didn’t I say feathers make everything better?”

“Dark and cold, dark and empty, so empty, so lonely. They’re all gone, no one understands, not even the People, not anyone…”

Cole’s voice had gone quite desolate, appearing very genuinely sad versus the way he’d been learning to feel others a little less intensely lately, perhaps in response to Mahanon’s forced cheer. He cringed. “Cole, we’ve talked about this.”

“Sorry,” Cole replied morosely. “Why don’t you talk to-”

“Cole, really.”

“But I think he would understand.”

Mahanon clicked his heels against Mr. Snuffle’s sides and brought him to a faster pace, trotting past the line of his companions and heading further up the trail. “Tell you what, Cole, why don’t we find that spring that’s supposed to be ahead? We can ambush Dorian and drench him with that hat.”

“Hey!”

“You’re being happy on purpose,” Cole complained, a little more petulantly. “But okay. He won’t see it coming even though he knows because he keeps looking at The Iron Bull and thinking about-”

“Cole!”

“Hey!”

“Ugh…”

* * *

 

The problem with having Cole around sometimes was his tendency to blurt out the thoughts of those around him (funny, when it was the source of others’ embarrassment, but inconvenient for Mahanon) and he was never satisfied with being unable to help with someone’s hurt. He did the same thing to Solas, too, because Solas was also secretive, and a little mystifying. Interacting with him so much in the Fade, Mahanon would have to be dumb not to notice things.

Solas seemed to be under the impression he _hadn’t_ noticed the gigantic, sweeping black aura that sometimes accompanied his mental presence, not so much a tangible, visible thing as a…well, a Fade thing, that others wouldn’t understand, with six pairs of eyes, but Mahanon wasn’t one to pry. Sometimes people just had gigantic, terrifying Fade presences.

But Cole, one of the only things that made Mahanon feel a little more at home, seemed convinced he needed to talk about his feelings with people. Mahanon wasn’t sure if the rest of the Inquisition would think he was insane or not if he did as such, so he decided to not risk it. Digging up old wounds wouldn’t help.

(A boldfaced lie considering it was a very _fresh_ wound, and also contrary to what he’d told Cole not a week ago.)

He seemed even more perceptive after Mahanon had helped him. He’d had to bite back a groan as soon as he saw Varric and Solas arguing, because as soon as they saw _him_ he was of course drawn into the argument, because that was just what being the Inquisitor was, as a job.

* * *

 

Cole was practically biting his nails already. He was so anxious Mahanon was starting to get anxious, and now he was so angry Mahanon was getting a headache. And, he loved them both to death, but Solas and Varric’s bickering wasn’t going to help much.

He glanced off to the side, where the man Cole had sought out had run off to, and sighed. Sometimes, he hoped he wouldn’t have to make all the choices.

“Here’s an idea,” he suggested, forcing some cheer. “How about you both stay here for a moment and debate before we have to resort to guardianship court, and Cole, we take a stroll.”

Varric squinted and Solas tilted his head while they both frowned, probably going to pick up on his ribbing when he was already gone, and Mahanon resisted a snicker as he led Cole towards the woods with a hand on his shoulder. Laughing wouldn’t do when the spirit looked as mad as he did, his expression so stormy.

“Cole,” he asked softly, when he couldn’t hear either of his companions’ voices anymore. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” the boy bit back in frustration. His pitch raised again, with how upset he was. “I don’t know! I just want it to stop hurting like this.”

They stepped onto an outcropping just as the templar skidded and tripped, collapsing to his knees at the cliff and shuddering. He looked up at them, sorrowful, dejected, terrified, a bit pitiable.

“He _killed_ me,” Cole seethed, taking his blade from where he’d stored it on his belt.

Mahanon placed an easy hand on his elbow. “He killed Cole, the mage. And you are Cole, the spirit. But you do not have to choose between killing him and being in anguish, Cole. You do not have to decide to be one thing or the other. You just have to be you.”

Cole paused, a frown replacing his rage, and hesitantly looked back at him. “But what am I?”

“That depends. What are you?”

Cole’s frown deepened. At times, he was comically easy to confuse.

“Come here. Let me show you,” Mahanon requested, voice quiet. He almost looked downtrodden, making Cole’s frown sadden, but the spirit stepped close to him as he asked and let him lay a hand on his cheekbone. He closed his eyes without being asked, letting Mahanon touch their foreheads together.

“Sometimes you need to forget. But right now, remember with me.”

* * *

 

A festering pool of black, pierced by two rays of light, and smoke wrapping around him as memories trickled past as if they were being swept off to slowly wash up on shore. Mahanon, ironically, spent a lot of time _trying_ to forget, but it was the one thing Cole couldn’t help him do, and here he was doing the opposite to help.

“I don’t want to hurt, but I don’t know how,” Cole told him, looking, and feeling, helpless.

“You don’t have to. Sometimes forgetting the hurt takes a while. You deserve the process like any of us do. Can you feel me? Feel you? And him?”

“He hurts too.” Now he looked guilty, but not in a lingering way. “I don’t want to hate him, even though I felt like I wanted to. And I want to forget, and him to forget, but not to forget too. I don’t know _what_ I am.”

“That’s okay. All that matters is-”

“That I _am_ ,” Cole interrupted, sounding more self-assured than he had all day. Looking piteous, he stepped over to the cowering man and put a hand over his forehead. “Forget the hurt, but not what happened. Don’t do that to anyone again.”

A headache was clawing at the inside of Mahanon’s skull. He rubbed his temple as he watched the man scamper off, leaving Cole standing there with an ultimately still sad air about him. He turned to look at Mahanon, appearing indecisive. “I’m sorry. Don’t you want to forget?”

“Sometimes. But I can’t. I’ll never forget.”

Cole paused, eyes glancing back the way they’d come. “If…you talked to Solas-”

“I know he’s wise, but he can’t help with anything, Cole.”

“But he is your friend! He is much more like you than you think.”

“It’s all right, Cole. I know it feels bad. But I would rather just look to the present and try not to think of it.”

Cole sighed and glanced at the ground, obviously disappointed, and Mahanon patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go interrupt the bickering that is no doubt taking place.”

* * *

 

Both Varric _and_ Solas were confused about the ultimate resolution of the day, which Mahanon struck down as a victory, because it wasn’t often he could confuse Solas too much, let alone a two for one. Then again, Cole didn’t completely get it either, only seeming firm in the fact that he _was_ , and he kept going about his daily life, helping and forgetting and sometimes appearing to people and sometimes not. Afterwards, he seemed more perceptive than ever, seeing through to old pains that had laid dormant for years and years yet still always having his funny little moments that led to Varric shaking his head and muttering about keeping anyone from scamming him in poker.

Mahanon was glad that he seemed happier than before, but sharing a mind link with him involving so much information so shortly had left him with a pounding headache. He often felt tired in this strange land, like the very air wasn’t enough to fill his lungs. He managed to make it to the tower that housed his quarters, though, before he felt too exhausted, and he grimaced at the sheer amount of stairs he had to climb just to get to bed. That was just offensive.

He was out of breath just thinking about it. He decided to take a quick break before traversing that mountain, finding a place by a box near the doorway and letting out a sigh as he sank to the floor.

It was like his whole body shuddered with him. He let his eyes drift shut and focused on the pulsing in his head, as it slowly abated and the ache in his body became apparent. He didn’t feel as young as he used to anymore.

It was, after what he thought was a few minutes, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Lethal’lin, wake up. Can you hear me?”

Mahanon wouldn’t admit to jolting out of surprise. He sucked in a sharp breath and raised his head, not knowing when he’d rested it against his knee. His cheekbone felt numb. “Solas?”

Solas frowned at him. It was a little strange to see him there, crouched on the floor next to him, since it was usually Mahanon visiting him in the library. “How long have you been here?”

“Uh…” What a daft question, Mahanon had no idea what time he’d wandered back in. Solas hovered a glowing green hand over him; he tried to ignore the tingles the magic sent through his body. “I just needed a quick rest. I’m fine, you see?”

He vaulted to his feet and felt a rush of dizziness. He grasped the railing and remained impassive in the face of the unimpressed stare Solas gave him. “Did you need something? I don’t think you’ve ever come in here before.”

“I came to see if you were all right after our ordeal with Cole today, as you looked tired when we returned; a quest I see was well required, since you apparently had little motivation to see the medics.”

“I don’t need a _medic_ , I’m not _sick_ ,” Mahanon complained, feeling reminiscent of the time he’d gotten a concussion from one of the greater halla his clan tended and refused to see the healers for three days before passing out when he was flying.

Solas cast him a dry look. A frown tugged at his lips, followed by a concern in his eyes that made Mahanon feel guilty. “Do you think it enjoyable to happen upon you and be worried? If you need something, lethal’lin, you can come to me.”

Now he felt _very_ guilty. Mahanon grimaced and looked away, feeling chastised. “I…know. You’re right. I apologize.”

“Come, you need to rest. Preferably on something other than cold hardwood.”

He let Solas help him up to bed, oblivious to the naively confused gaze of Cole as he watched them go from a rafter.

* * *

 

A problem: he _wanted_ to trust Solas with his…various issues. He just didn’t know how, sometimes.

The solution: most certainly not having Cole voice more of his thoughts out loud.

“Hands, warm and soft and gentle. Feels as if it’s been millennia since I felt that touch. Maybe it has. No one left…but there’s someone else. It feels-”

“Cole,” he said in as tolerating a sing-song voice as he could, trying not to poke his own eyes out with his dagger as they rode to Crestwood after an illuminating conversation with that friend of Varric’s, “Remember our talk about not mind reading?”

“Sorry,” Cole replied from the back of his hart, sounding genuinely sheepish. “You’re just so loud.” Mahanon supposed he couldn’t fault him there. He was a spirit, and Mahanon was probably broadcasting. “Old hurt. My love, my child, cousins and brothers, too far to reach…”

“Hey, kid, why don’t you go to the back where Tiny is? I think I heard him talking about his deep emotional traumas earlier,” Varric suggested from his seat on the wagon Mahanon rode beside. Mahanon cleared his throat and schooled his expression as Cole nodded and disappeared, leaving Varric to give him a look much too perceptive. “Anything you want to talk about, Inquisitor?”

“No, Varric. Thank you for asking.”

“Well, I’m always here if you need an ear that will exaggerate your stories and lie about them in a book.” Varric settled back against the seat and propped his feet up on the end of the wagon. Fortunately he was the only one in earshot. “You and Chuckles really get along, huh?”

“What?” Mahanon felt a little stupid for his response. He tried not to resemble a fish too much as he glanced between Varric and the road ahead where Cassandra and Blackwall rode, blocking the rest of their group in front of them. “I mean, yes. We are friends.”

“Riiiiight. Friends.” Varric crossed his arms and let out a sigh, seemingly talking to someone else. “Why do I get stuck with the friends who like the broody ones?”

“What?”

“Nothing, Ghost. You just seem like you _really_ like him.”

Mahanon’s face began to heat up. Of course he liked Solas- as his acquaintance. He’d been the most steadfast support he’d had since arriving in this place. And, it really didn’t hurt to have someone around so like himself to turn to. “I, assure you we are just companions, whatever you’re thinking of.”

Varric turned his head and grinned at him. “What _was_ I thinking of?”

“You’re a terrible person, Varric.”

“Do you want this in the book?”

“Su an’banal i’ma.”

“The Iron Bull did not wish to speak of his emotional traumas,” said Cole as he appeared on the wagon seat, scaring the shit out of both of them and making Mahanon let out a noise he made a pact not to repeat at any later date. The spirit sounded disappointed. “But I think he feels better after he saved the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Ah. Good.” Mahanon replied with no small amount of awkwardness, feeling embarrassment creep up his shoulders. He wanted to put on a hood with no hole for the face. Just a bag, straight over his head. He never startled that easily. Varric let out a half-wheeze, half-laugh as he recovered, one hand on his chest.

Cole looked at him and a burrow developed in his brow. “Dorian also did not want to discuss his emotions.”

“Well, I don’t have any trouble believing that.”

“Do you want to? I can still hear, so loud-”

“Cole…”

“Then please stop thinking so loud!”


End file.
